


In Violation

by FandomN00b



Series: Lost and Found: The Misadventures of Marian Hawke and Everyone She Meets [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M, Lost and Found DA2 endgame canon divergence, Mages and Templars, Mostly Agatha POV, Other, disaster Templars, happier ending, motherhood stuff, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-11-06 14:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17941208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b
Summary: Ser Agatha was sent to Kirkwall in 9:30 to help the Circle there with the influx of refugees from Ferelden, a few months before the new Knight-Captain, Ser Cullen Rutherford arrived. She was a serious woman who conducted herself with propriety, for the most part just preferring to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble. She rarely let her guard down or allowed her emotions to show through her heavy Templar armor. Few of her fellow soldiers ever saw or appreciated the subtle sense of humor she had, her quiet rebellious streak, or the anger she felt deep within her at the things she'd had to bear witness to as a Templar in Kirkwall before the Rebellion in 9:37.But when the time came, brought on by an apostate revolutionary's devastating attack on the Chantry, she stood firmly against Meredith's orders to annul the Circle, with Cullen and a contingent of Templars who still remembered the part of their vows that Agatha held most dear: their duty to protect the mages.





	1. The Staff of the First Enchanter

**Author's Note:**

> Ser Agatha has been in my brain since I randomly inserted her into ["Part II: Those Who Remain"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17281457/chapters/40643084) to help Cullen get his shit together (a proto-Cassandra, I guess?), and now she's got a whole spin-off backstory and a fulfilling, happier life ahead of her. This will intersect a lot with Cullen's history in Kirkwall, Samson, Orsino, Meredith, then, after the Rebellion, Bethany, Aveline, Rylen, and eventually, Leliana, Cassandra, and maybe even Varric if we can make it through an entire story arc without finding other characters to distract us! Mostly canon-friendly...?
> 
> That is all to say that this is most definitely a WIP.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Meredith has been defeated, Agatha does something uncharacteristically impulsive before heading home from the Gallows.

\---

It was still there. Just lying among a pile of discarded corpses like it was nothing. A staff that had been passed down from First Enchanter to First Enchanter since Casimira, the first mage leader of Kirkwall’s Circle, who served Divine Justinia I, herself. She, too, had been taken by a demon in the end and slain by the Templars who had sworn vows to protect her and the other mages here in this cursed place. But Orsino had always insisted to anyone who would listen that she had given herself as a willing sacrifice, to protect the rest of the Circle from being corrupted by the demon’s power.

Agatha had wandered back through the Gallows after their final confrontation with Meredith, trying to understand. To piece it all together. How had this happened to _him_ of all people? Always so determined to keep fighting, so infuriatingly optimistic in the face of things, even in his own righteous anger. Could she have saved him? Had she been wrong all these years in keeping her distance?

_What if I’d told him?_

She looked at the staff, its three dark twisting serpentine heads standing in stark contrast to the haphazard piles of soft, shapeless flesh and gore all around. It was a thing of power. Of beauty, even _with_ its clear inspiration from Tevinter. But most importantly, it was all there was left of _him_.

Acting on impulse, she reached down and grabbed it, almost shocked it didn’t burn or transform into a monster and try to ensnare her. But it was just a staff, made of the same red steel as her own armor. She stripped off her gauntlets and wrapped her bare hands around it, trying to imagine what a mage might do with such a thing, focusing their power through it, channeling strength from the Fade. She’d seen Orsino in action against the Qunari three years ago. It was the first time she'd really seen what he was fully capable of as a mage. The staff hardly seemed necessary. But she closed her eyes, trying to find some trace of his energy there. The metal remained cool, inactive. Dead.

She certainly didn’t know what _she_ intended to do with it, only that she wanted to take it home with her now and hide it away like she’d hidden so many other things in her heart over the past seven years since she’d been assigned to Kirkwall. She tucked it under her arm and made her way back out of the Gallows, hoping everyone else who remained would be too relieved that the fighting was done, for now at least, too distracted by the fact that they’d somehow survived Meredith’s wrath to notice a Templar carrying such a significant magical relic with her to the Docks, then back across the Harbor, and finally, to her little modest apartment in Lowtown.

...

"Mama?" The little insistent voice called out in the dark at the sound of the door creaking open, then shut. It was a call to arms of a different sort that banished all the horrors of the night as Agatha tried quickly, but quietly, to peel her bloodied armor off and push it away before the little arms could find her and wrap themselves around her.

"Husshhhh, Wilo. Yes. I'm home. C'mere, love."

The girl hardly waited for the invitation to throw herself at her mother.

"You were gone almost all night..." she admonished her, hot, sweet breath against her neck as she burrowed into her. She didn't seem to care that her mother smelled of sweat and ugly magic and anti-magic and blood and Maker-knows-what-else, like most of the rest of Kirkwall. "Nana said not to worry, but she was worried, I could tell." She lifted her head from her mother's shoulder and nodded toward the corner of the room where an old elf woman sat in an even older wooden rocking chair, sleeping and snoring gently.

Agatha suddenly felt terrible again. Maker knows what Narana must've thought, with the world falling apart all around them. She should've stopped in on her way to the Gallows, at least, to be sure they were alright after the explosion. But what, then? Her determination may have wavered. She may never have gone back to help. They might be halfway to Starkhaven or Tantervale or anywhere else by now, and Cullen might still be wringing his hands as Meredith, in her insane unhinged wrath bullied her way into executing every last mage in Kirkwall. She briefly entertained the idea of leaving still, of uprooting herself, her daughter, and Narana if she'd join them, and taking their chances _anywhere_ else but here.

But no. Duty. Promises. Orsino might have given up in the end, but she and those who remained had a responsibility still to the people of Kirkwall. To each other. To the mages. To their damn vows. 

"Let's not wake her, then. Everything is fine now. I am so sorry for making you worry!"

The little girl shook her head. "I wasn't worried. You promised you'd be back. You _always_ keep your promises."

"I certainly try," she said, knowing full well that there'd probably come a day when her daughter's unquestioning faith in her would be shaken. But she couldn't dwell on that now, as the early morning light began to slowly reveal a new, if not uncertain, world for them. She was just so relieved it had not been this day.

"What's that?" The girl peered through the fleeting darkness at the staff Agatha had almost forgotten about as she'd leaned it against the wall when she'd entered.

"Oh. Nothing...just a...uhh...a keepsake. From a friend. He doesn't need it anymore."

_A broken promise. A violation._

"Was he a mage?" Her daughter, for having lived a relatively sheltered life out of necessity, was still quite aware, maybe even more than most six-year-olds, of the tensions between mages and the rest of the world, especially in Kirkwall. She knew vaguely that her mother was involved in it, and how it weighed heavily on her soul, even though she wasn't a mage herself. And she'd heard her mother and Nana speaking low and quiet about the 'magical energy' they both sensed within Wilona when they thought she'd gone to sleep.

Someday, she might tell her more, but for today, "Yes. He was," would have to suffice.

 _Was._ It hurt like hell. It shouldn't have hurt so much. She'd spent nearly seven years rationalizing her decision.

"Can I see?"

"No!" she hissed. Then she softened her tone a little. "Maybe. In time...just not yet."

They both turned at the sound of the older woman stirring from her anxious sleep in the corner of the room.

"Agatha, dear? Is that you?" She peered toward them. "Creators! Where have you been?! The whole city seems to have been on the verge of collapse!"

"It's ok, Nana. Mama is fine. And she's brought home a big stick. From her friend in the Circle!"

The older woman blinked, her eyes adjusting more readily to the dark than either of theirs could in spite of her age. She was staring urgently at Agatha now. "Did you tell him?! Did he _know_?"

Agatha was not expecting this. It was hard enough keeping it together with her own doubts and questions, but Narana, too? She squeezed her daughter tighter. All of this had been for her, after all.

"No. We were too late. He was too far...gone."

Narana whispered, "I'm sorry," realizing what an accusatory tone she'd taken as she was still waking up from a fitful sleep. She rarely held back, even when fully awake, but she knew this was an especially delicate matter.

"Me too," Agatha sighed.

"Who, Mama?"

Narana shot Agatha an apologetic look. Not just one of sympathy for her loss, but one that also seemed to say  _Oh shit. Sorry about bringing this up in front of the most curious six-year-old that ever existed_. "Nevermind, da'len. Let your mother rest. I'm sure she's had a very busy night."

"But I want to snuggle!" Wilo pressed her face back into her mother's neck, grabbing greedy fistfuls of her filthy tunic.

Narana looked to Agatha. It was her call, obviously.

"I'd like that very much," she nodded and smiled, handing the Staff of Violation to the older woman for inspection. She knew she had a way with ancient magical things, and Agatha was already beginning to regret bringing it home. Narana would know what to do with it. Where to tuck it away. "But first, let me change out of these gross clothes."

"Okay, Mama...you _are_ a little bit stinky. Sure you don't need a bath?" She held her nose and waved her hand exaggeratedly, pretending to waft her mother's stench away.

Narana laughed, and Agatha shrugged. "If you'll allow it, my little Wilo-the-wisp, then I'd certainly love a bath!"

"Yeah, you definitely need one!" the girl giggled.

"Very well, then..." Agatha set her daughter down, and gave a little bow of acknowledgment before heading into the washroom to wash away the blood of monsters and, hopefully, the gnawing buzz of red lyrium.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weapon lore from here: <https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Staff_of_Violation>  
> (randomly inflicts enemies with 'walking bomb,' tho...eek!)


	2. First and Last Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Agatha, Ser Cullen, and Samson (he refuses to be called 'Ser') return to the Gallows two days after they defeated Meredith.

\---

“Remind me why we’re back here at the ass crack of dawn, Captain?”

 _Samson_. For some undoubtedly sinister reason, he was still insisting on sticking unnervingly close to Cullen. He’d disappeared for a bit when they’d initially confronted Meredith the night before last, and Cullen had thought that was probably the last he’d ever see of him, but, to his surprise, he had reappeared just in time to help in the final, decisive moments of _that_ fight, too.

It was still surprising to see him reporting for duty this morning, but Cullen thought maybe he would need to start getting used to it. Maybe this was Samson’s way of showing him he hadn’t been wrong to defend him and to advocate for his reinstatement after all. Maybe he was trying to make a fresh start now that Meredith was gone and everything was in flux. Samson always did seem to thrive in the midst of chaos.

“I wish you would stop calling me that,” he grumbled back at him, anyway, trying to dismiss the admiration he was _maybe_ beginning to feel for the man who’d been nothing but a thorn in his side, a reminder of his own failings, for as long as he’d known him. It had become almost a ritual now. So much had changed in the past 48 hours. But at least the disdainful bickering between them was something familiar to hold onto.

“It’s your title, isn’t it? Or are you going to make us start calling you Knight- _Commander_ now?” Samson sneered.

“Without a Circle, Kirkwall doesn’t exactly need a Knight-Commander to oversee it…”

“So the scary mages no longer concern you? I seem to recall just a few days ago that you thought they posed a real threat to public safety.”

“I don’t know _what_ to be concerned about anymore…” Cullen was rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact now, completely derailed by Samson's questioning from whatever noble mission of atonement he had intended for them all this morning. He didn’t look like he’d slept at all in the past two days, either. He was even paler, his eyes more sunken in than usual.

 _This silly boy,_ Samson thought, recognizing the early signs of someone just off their lyrium. _Of all the times to try and fix yourself!_

But wasn’t that what Samson was doing, too? Not that he would ever be so stupid as to try to quit lyrium cold turkey. He wasn’t such a masochist. But he’d at least taken the opportunity to rescue Maddox, hiding him away in a safehouse with another mage friend for the past two nights. His plan was to leave Kirkwall as soon as possible and start a new life somewhere. To take care of his friend, like he’d failed to do before. Samson knew now that there was an ample supply of gold stashed away in Meredith’s offices, and he had planned to return on his own and take enough to afford a comfortable apartment and get Maddox setup with a nice blacksmith shop in some Free Marcher city without a Circle to enslave him, hopefully with enough left over to afford a steady supply of lyrium for himself. He actually planned to enjoy his retirement from the Templars this time around.

But then there was _Cullen_. Going about this all wrong. Stuck feeling guilty, like always, bound by duty to something that didn’t exist anymore. Maybe never existed, at least not in the idealized form he imagined it. And punishing himself for it. And getting in Samson’s way. And actually making him feel _sorry_ for him!

 _Cullen_ , the intolerably loyal young idiot who had been so eager to impress Meredith as she used his own trauma and anxieties against him as soon as he'd arrived from Ferelden. Her pathetic lapdog, _almost_ to the very end. Until he finally grew a pair. Thanks, in large part, to the extra set of balls Ser Agatha had lent him. Why did he keep catching himself wanting to rescue _him_ , too?

“Try to think of your _self_ a little more, Captain. You’re free now,” he muttered, trying not to sound overly sincere.

“Free? To do what, exactly?”

“Whatever you’d like. Lyrium binge, hookers, drunken brawls, gambling...”

“I don’t feel very free,” he murmured. It was like he wasn’t even listening, his focus was entirely inward on his own lost sense of purpose.

“Nevermind.” It was no fun for Samson to harass him if he wasn’t even going to _pretend_ to be scandalized. “Just...why did you drag us all out here?”

Cullen wasn’t really sure himself why he’d summoned what remained of Kirkwall’s Templars to the Docks and instructed them all to cross the Harbor to the Gallows, except that it somehow felt like they needed to do _something_. Like it was their duty to return, to bear witness to the dissolution of the Circle, to be sure that all the horrors and demons had actually all been put to rest, and to honor the dead _somehow_ instead of just leaving their bodies to rot. He supposed he also needed closure, on another ill-fated chapter of his life as a Templar. And he supposed the others probably needed it, too. Why else would they have bothered to show up?

When he failed to answer, Samson finally just gave up on needling him, and they rode the rest of the way across the Harbor in silence.

...

Agatha was the first to hop off the boat onto the dock, eager to get this over with. “Let’s start with a sweep of the Hall and the dormitories.” Unlike Samson, she didn’t ask difficult questions, or whisper painful reminders into his ear, and she didn’t hesitate to take charge, either, much to Cullen’s relief. “We can bring the bodies out into the courtyard and make a funeral pyre there. To honor the...fallen.”

It would be impossible to know who had been on which side during the multiple violent standoffs that had occurred that night, but it didn’t really matter. They'd all been brothers, sisters, comrades, even friends, at some point. And the mages who'd died had been people they'd been meant to protect.

“The remains in the Prison are mostly damaged beyond recognition, I fear, and possibly tainted, so we’ll have to just make do and burn them inside.”

She swallowed the aching that had suddenly risen up into her throat. She’d probably been the only one to return there after the fight with Meredith, and she had no interest in seeing what two days had done to the already-grotesque mutilated corpses, but they still deserved as much respect in death as the others.

“Quickly, please! We don’t know what effect this red lyrium will have on us, and we’d like to limit our exposure to it as much as possible.”

“Thanks,” Cullen nodded with gratitude as he disembarked shortly after her.

“No problem. Everything here just feels...really _off_ , you know?”

“I thought maybe it was just me,” he muttered, trying to ignore the weird, nauseating pull of it. The song it sang was familiar enough to call out to him, to reach for him, but it was eerie and twisted, and it seemed to whisper promises like _better, stronger, more_ , while, at the same time, reminding him of all his failings.

 _Leave me alone!_ He wanted to scream at it. It reminded him too much of the demon who’d tortured him at Kinloch Hold. There was always a price attached to such promises. And Cullen was getting tired of being solicited.

“Hard to say if it’s the red lyrium or the lingering stench of corpses, blood magic, demonic possession, blighted monsters, or abominations. Take your pick, really!” Samson seemed less perturbed by the stuff than the rest of them. He almost seemed...cheerful. Like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders as he got closer to the Gallows.

“Well, there’s that, too…” Agatha let her eyes linger over the courtyard as they approached. The twisted, petrified remains of Meredith were still there, reaching up desperately to the heavens for her reward. Agatha shuddered as she remembered the last of her insane fanatic ravings before she was consumed by the corrupt power she’d tried to unleash upon them. She and the Knight-Commander had always had a somewhat frigid relationship, and Agatha had no doubt that they'd done the right thing in challenging her, but she wouldn’t have wished that kind of madness on anyone, even though looking back on it now, this had all seemed almost inevitable.

…

“Hello, Knight-Commander Meredith?” Agatha knocked lightly on the door that had been left slightly ajar, peering into the office of her new Commander. “I’m Ser Agatha...”

“From Ostwick?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a day early.” Meredith said, coolly, without even looking up at her.

“Yes, Commander. I was told to report here to you as soon as I arrived. Favorable seas got us in sooner than expected.”

“You should know, I run things a bit more tightly around here than they do in Ostwick.”

“So I’ve heard.” Nothing about Agatha’s tone seemed to suggest she was impressed, but she was _trying_ to be polite. It was something she had never really been very good at. In spite of what she’d heard, she was willing to give this new place, this new Commander, a shot.

Meredith waved her hand dismissively toward the door. “Come back tomorrow. I’m not ready for you yet.”

Agatha laughed. “Surely, you’re joking? I won’t be a bother. Just give me something to do, and I’ll get right to it...”

Meredith let out an exasperated sigh, and finally looked up from her stack of reports, her piercing steely blue eyes judging Agatha and finding her lacking already from the very first glance. “I _requested_ a transfer from Ferelden, but they sent _you_ instead. In Ferelden, they have seen what happens when mages are given too much freedom, and most of these refugees are coming from across the sea, from _their_ territory, anyway. They are nothing like the mages you all treat like honored house guests in your previous Circle.”

“Well, I _am_ sorry to disappoint you, Commander. But I think my experience with the refugees in Ostwick may -- ”

“Ostwick will learn the same lesson soon enough, I’m sure. There is a storm brewing, and I fear it will make the Blight, and even the occupying Qunari, look like mere inconveniences when it is unleashed upon the world.”

“That’s...grim.” Agatha was quickly running out of the energy she’d mustered for the express purpose of making a good first impression.

Meredith suddenly grinned at her, a chilling shift from the disappointed glare she’d had fixed upon her up to this point. “You are a Templar, girl! Everything about this job, your life from now on, at least, will be grim.” It seemed like a promise Meredith personally intended to keep.

“Excuse me, Commander, but you know I’m not just another recruit, right? At least, I’m sure I don’t look nearly so young as to be called ‘girl,’ although I _am_ flattered.” Agatha tried to twist her face into some kind of charming smile. It had been a long time since she’d attempted to be charming, but she was running out of tricks.

Unsurprisingly, Meredith was not won over. She only seemed to become more irritated. She was staring daggers at her now, loathing in her eyes where there had merely been disappointment before. “It remains to be seen whether or not you will prove at all valuable to me. I hold loyalty and obedience in far higher regard than rank or experience.”

“I see…” Agatha looked down. She had not been prepared for this, in spite of what her colleagues back in Ostwick had told her about the situation in Kirkwall. Her former Commander had seemed to think Meredith was misunderstood. In need of more support. Caught in the middle between unruly mages, a wishy-washy viscount, a Qunari occupation, and the instability caused by the Blight.

“Will you be living here in the barracks, or is that also beneath you?” Meredith sighed with impatient contempt.

“What? Oh, I had assumed I’d be living in the main city. You all actually live _here_...in the Gallows?”

“It’s not a requirement, but many of our soldiers, not just the lowly  _recruits_ , do choose to live here. For their own safety. There are many who would wish to harm us among the citizenry of Kirkwall.”

“It’s just that...well, we valued our time away from the Ostwick Circle. Separation of work and leisure and all that. I feel like, here, being isolated like this out in the middle of the harbor, you all would be especially keen to get into the city and mingle when you’re not on duty.”

Meredith had already returned her attention to the stack of paperwork on her desk. “Do what suits you. I don’t imagine you’ll last long here either way.”

“I’ll find an apartment and report back tomorrow, then. Assuming you’ll be _ready_ for me then?”

Meredith just waved her hand again, shooing her out like before. “Shut the door.”

As Agatha made a hasty exit, she did her best not to slam the door before turning and colliding with an elf in mage robes.

“Oh! Excuse me…” As she took him in, checking to see that she hadn’t harmed him in her eagerness to get away from all the unpleasantness of her first interaction with the Knight-Commander, she realized the extra gold stripes on his robes marked him as the First Enchanter. “Oh, shit! First Enchanter Orsino, is it? I’m so sorry!” It seemed she was not destined to make a good impression on _anyone_ here today.

He chuckled, his pale green eyes twinkling with all the warmth that Meredith seemed to lack. He was younger than she’d expected, younger than any First Enchanter she’d ever met. The First Enchanter at Ostwick was an old, severe-looking woman who could shrivel you with just a look, no magic necessary. She and Meredith could've been related, in fact, Agatha thought with a little smirk.

But Orsino was not _quite_ middle-aged and his eyes were kind. His graying hair had begun to recede just enough to give him a sort of distinguished look if he was really trying, but he brimmed with a youthful energy that betrayed any attempt he might have made at being a serious, fearsome man. This betrayal was only heightened by the fact that he was laughing at her now.

“And you must be our new transfer from the Ostwick Circle? A whole day early... _very_ impressive! Usually people show up late around here, if they show up at all.”

“Meredith was much less enthusiastic about meeting me. And I didn’t just nearly trample her!”

“Don’t mind her. She’s had a stick up her ass ever since they denied her request for a transfer of some strapping young lad from Kinloch Hold. His superiors think he needs some time to cool out. Maybe even an early retirement. Well-deserved, I should think, after what happened there.”

“And what was that, exactly?” She’d heard rumors. The Circle had almost fallen to demons. There had been blood magic, abominations, torture...all of the things Templars were taught to live in constant fear of. Agatha had always been skeptical of the fear-mongering they’d been subjected to in training, but if the rumors were true about what happened in Ferelden...

“They’re keeping it quiet. But a couple of Wardens apparently swooped in at the last minute looking to enlist some help with the Blight, and stopped Knight-Commander Greagoir from enacting the Right of Annulment. Many innocent mages were spared using some kind of ancient magic to break their possession. But before all of that, there had been a lot of casualties. Mages and Templars alike. The Templar that Meredith had her heart set on was found trapped and tortured to the point of insanity by a powerful desire demon, and he was demanding they kill every last one of the mages.”

“This is not a job for someone of compromised mental well-being…”

“I agree!” He leaned in closer. “Which is why I pulled some strings to insure that he stayed back in Ferelden and far away from our already-troubled Circle here.”

“Why are you telling _me_ this, First Enchanter?” Agatha whispered, looking back over her shoulder to be sure the door to Meredith’s office was still shut.

“You seem trustworthy enough.” He shrugged. “And I may have inquired about you among friends in Ostwick,” he winked.

Agatha smiled proudly. She couldn't help it. “Shit. Do I really have a reputation? I’m going to be punished for not blindly hating all mages, aren’t I?”

“I won’t tell." He tapped a finger to the side of his nose. "You could always just start acting a bit more like a mage-hating Fereldan Templar?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t speak Dog.”

Orsino had to work hard to stifle a full-blown cackle. “I was on my way to afternoon tea with a few friends. We always invite the Knight-Commander so she doesn’t feel left out, but she’s been ‘too busy’ lately. Care to join me instead? I can give you a tour along the way.”

Agatha pretended to look scandalized, gasping, “But then everyone will _know_ I’m the type who ‘fraternizes’ with mages!”

“Believe it or not, there _are_ a few of you who still treat us like people...c’mon, I’ll introduce you to them.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is maybe turning into a Sullen thing on the side? It's such a fun ship, and I probably won't do it justice...but I can't NOT include my new favorite disaster Templars in here while Agatha goes about keeping shit together in Kirkwall.


	3. Sympathizers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha heads to Orsino's office leaving Samson to gossip...also flashbacks to 9:30, just before Cullen arrives in Kirkwall: Meredith wants to make an example out of someone

\---

“I’ll do a quick run through Orsino’s offices, just in case...you take Meredith’s?” Agatha was already halfway inside the door to the First Enchanter's suite, shouting back over her shoulder to the others who had filtered in, more hesitantly, to the abandoned Templar Hall.

Cullen looked at her for a moment, concerned. Orsino had succumbed to some kind of demon, transformed into a hideous monster, and nearly taken the entire Circle down with him. There was no way of knowing how long he’d been under the the influence of it, or what other tainted magic he’d been hiding.

Agatha saw the worry written on his face. “It’s fine. I’ll be _extra_ cautious.” She smiled, something she didn’t do very often, but she was attempting to be reassuring. When that didn’t seem to work, she just rolled her eyes at him.

But he still didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure you don’t want to go through it together, or with someone else, just in case…?”

“No!” She blurted out, then tried to compose herself. ”I mean, yes, I’m sure. I’d be much more worried about whether or not Meredith has stashed away any more of that red lyrium in _her_ offices, if I were you. And there are probably far more booby traps and hidden rooms for you to deal with over there. Definitely feels like I’m passing the more dangerous task off to you.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Cullen knew Agatha was as capable a Templar as anyone when it came to defending herself against whatever potential threats could be waiting for her in Orsino’s office, and he certainly wasn’t going to argue with her over something like this.

“She and him had a thing, you know…” Samson whispered in his ear, as soon as she was out of hearing range.

“Have some respect, for once in your blighted life!”

“They were very good at hiding it. Even Meredith didn’t know. If she had, she’d have probably had Agatha tossed out into the streets right along with me. Orsino was _her_ forbidden desire, after all. And she wouldn’t have liked for anyone else to have had him when she could not.”

“You’re beginning to sound like a madman,” Cullen huffed, trying not to encourage him, but knowing full well that a comment like this probably would.

“ _Beginning_? That's a compliment coming from you, Captain.”

He pretended to swoon, but Cullen looked unamused.

“I don’t think it could’ve lasted long, or Meredith would’ve found out, eventually, but the way they’d linger in each other’s company. Those sad little stares of longing when they thought no one was looking…” He let out an exaggeratedly wistful sigh. “‘Twas heart-breaking, truly!”

“You’re a ridiculous man.”

“Nothin’ to be jealous of, Captain! Just thought you’d like to know...her bein' a mage-sympathizer and all.” Samson grinned.

“Who exactly would I be jealous of, in this scenario, if there were any truth to your outlandish claims?”

“I’ve just noticed that you seem to enjoy cold, bossy women telling you what to do…”

Cullen’s face went stony again and he stared through Samson for just a moment, before shaking his head and blurting out, “I harbor no romantic feelings for Ser Agatha, I assure you.”

“Then maybe you had a crush on the First Enchanter?”

“While I do consider him to have been a handsome man...no. It would have been inappropriate. A violation of our vows.” He stared pointedly at Samson.

“What? Do you consider _me_ to have been a handsome man, as well?” Samson’s lips curled into their usual villainous sneer, but there was something more behind it. Something that he was trying with great effort to hide behind sarcasm and wickedness.

Cullen’s stare softened a little at the realization. “Well, yes. _Perhaps_ ,” his face had begun to twist itself into the tiniest of grins as he saw that _he_ was making _Samson_ uncomfortable for a change. “...if you weren’t such an infuriating bastard all the time!”

…

“Before you go, I have one last matter to discuss,” Meredith’s eyes narrowed on the First Enchanter like a large predator trying to decide if it could devour its prey in one bite, or if it would have to make multiple courses out of it.

“Yes, Meredith...what is it?” Orsino sighed, not even bothering to mask his exasperation. He’d spent the last three hours updating her on the status of every mage in the Circle. A list of their known abilities, any new developments in their magic, the spellbooks they’d been studying, and when he thought each of the Apprentices might be ready for their Harrowings. Orsino preferred to delay these as long as he could, while Meredith often pressed him to move them up with the belief that rooting out weak mages earlier reduced the risk of them becoming ‘corrupted’ and corrupting others around them.

“What do you know about your mage, Maddox, and his relationship with Ser Raleigh Samson?”

“I have not heard of any impropriety between them, if that is what you are asking?”

“Samson is not a fan of mine. He has _always_ made that clear. And he has also questioned every decision I’ve ever made, every necessary reform, since I liberated Kirkwall from the tyranny of its mages under Viscount Threnhold.”

“In my interactions with him, Ser Raleigh has always seemed rather neutral to the plight of mages as a whole. He takes issue with the way the Chantry treats its Templars as much as with any perceived mistreatment of the mages under their protection.”

“You defend him?”

“If you consider that a defense.” He shrugged.

“I have heard disturbing rumors. That he has become known both in and out of the Circle as a ‘friend to mages,’ and that he has been collaborating with this Maddox to sneak messages out of the Gallows.”

“What kind of messages?”

“Does it matter?!”

Orsino exhaled impatiently. He was going to be late for tea. “Well, do they actually pose a threat, or are they just messages to friends, family...loved ones?”

“Their content does not concern me nearly as much as the idea of one of our Templars collaborating with a mage and undermining the authority of the Order. I cannot abide him continuing to act in blatant violation of his duties.”

“You mean undermining _your_ authority. The Order, in general, has not taken a stance against communication between mages in the Circle and their friends and relations outside of it. Nor has the Chantry. And I am not familiar with any part of the vows you all take that forbid it, either.”

Meredith glared at him, her pale blue eyes trying to pierce his very soul. It was a look that would normally send anyone else cowering away from her in fear, but Orsino had a special defensive stare of his own that he kept reserved for the Knight-Commander.

The staring match lasted only a few moments before Meredith broke first, looking down and shuffling her papers like she had more important things to deal with. “I see...well, I can’t say I really expected you to be of much help in this matter. Just don’t make the mistake of assuming I am your enemy…” It was a flippant warning. There were always warnings. Threats. She couldn’t bear the thought of letting anyone believe she would ever overlook any perceived challenge to her authority.

Orsino sighed heavily, again, and rolled his eyes. “Will you be joining us for tea today?” He knew her answer. And she knew he knew. But continuing to invite her had become a formality that he insisted on upholding.

“I must get to the bottom of these rumors and take appropriate action to stamp out these acts of rebellion.”

“I hardly _think_ \-- ”

“That is all, First Enchanter,” she dismissed him abruptly with a wave of her hand toward the door.

Agatha was waiting for him in the main hall, trying not to look overly eager, leaning against the opposite wall with her arms crossed, sneering at Mettin and Karras who were waiting outside of the Knight-Commander’s office for some ‘special assignment.’ They were speaking together like eager little children about a ‘mage sympathizer’ that Meredith was going to come down hard on and make an example out of. And they were being loud enough for her to overhear them, on purpose, she was sure. They were hardly subtle about their glances in her direction. She had a reputation, after all, that had followed her from Ostwick, where it had not been such a bad thing to treat the mages under her protection better than bloodthirsty, corruptible abominations.

But she kept telling herself there was no way anyone could’ve known about her and Orsino. They had been very careful, rendezvousing behind closed, _locked_ , doors, fumbling around in dark closets, sneaking their little kisses and longing glances only when they were certain that nobody else was there to witness them.

“How is the Knight-Commander?” she asked Orsino brightly, almost defiantly, with an eyebrow raised at the weary look on his face as he emerged from her offices.

Orsino looked over his shoulder at the door to Meredith’s office which he had closed firmly behind him, and shook his head, nodding politely towards Mettin and Karras.

“Ser Thrask is ready and waiting. Shall I _escort_ you to him, First Enchanter?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, the twinkle of amusement in his green-gray eyes only noticeable to her. “Yes. I wouldn’t want to keep _Thrask_ waiting…”

“No. He’d be very cross, I would think. You know how old and grumpy he gets about these things.”

“Take me to him, then, Lieutenant.”

She slowly stood up from the wall, casting one last contemptuous glare at the two watching their interaction as she walked slowly to meet him at the heavy wooden doors that led to the Officer’s suite. As soon as they’d rounded the first corner of the remote, insulated corridor leading toward Thrask’s office, Orsino grabbed her gauntleted wrist and pulled her back and around to face him.

“You have to be more careful,” he hissed, pressing a hasty kiss against her cheek.

“ _What_? I didn’t do anything…” She batted her eyelashes innocently at him, leaning toward him for something a bit less hurried.

But he shook his head again, the same weary expression he’d worn as he exited Meredith’s office. “She asked me about Samson. And Maddox.”

“Shit.”

Nevertheless, Agatha breathed a small sigh of relief, feeling only a little bit guilty about it coming at the expense of another Templar who, like her and Thrask and a few of the others, didn’t seem to share Meredith’s extreme views. But Samson wasn’t exactly subtle about where his loyalties lied and he’d been increasingly careless about his acts of subversion lately, almost _daring_ Meredith to punish him. If he wasn’t careful, he could get a lot of other people in trouble, as well.

“I told her I wasn’t aware of anything, but I don’t think she believed me, and I fear for both of them. That she’ll come down hard. To send a message.”

“But it’s just letters...surely, that’s not anything to get her too riled up?” She lowered her voice considerably, “Unless she knows about Samson’s work with the apostates…?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t mention it. But she’s gotten worse. She sees even the slightest infraction as a serious threat to her authority, to the very Order...”

“Did you forget to invite her to tea?”

Orsino chuckled. Agatha’s playful sarcasm was contagious to him, even in moments like this.

“Of course not!” But the momentary whimsy in his eyes had disappeared again. “Agatha, if she found out about _us_ \-- ”

“Then don’t tell her!” Agatha squeezed his hand, pulling him closer, trying to keep the humored sparkle in his face for just a little bit longer.

But he was right. She knew. Even here, in the empty corridor, it wasn’t really safe to be having this conversation, let alone holding hands, or standing so close together.

“Tea, then?” She smiled, releasing his hand when she realized that somehow she’d become the one who was still holding on.

His eyes searched hers as he stepped back, and they began walking as Templar and First Enchanter again.

“I never intended to put you in this difficult position,” he muttered once there was a respectable distance between them.

She didn’t turn around, but he could imagine her warm brown eyes rolling at the sentiment. “You’re not exactly immune to the Knight-Commander’s wrath yourself.”

“But I am the First Enchanter...” he boasted, his voice thick with sarcasm and scorn. They both knew the title meant very little to Meredith. She hadn’t even seen the need to replace the previous First Enchanter after he’d died, and none of the Senior Enchanters were exactly eager to fill it themselves. The position had meant almost as little to him, except for the responsibility that came with it to advocate for the mages, a risky activity under Meredith’s increasingly authoritative rule over the Gallows, the Templars, and the city via her control of Viscount Dumar.

Agatha smiled, but continued to keep her eyes ahead of her. “You’re just another handsome elf to me,” she murmured. They were getting closer to Thrask’s office. Not that Thrask, of all people, would’ve reported their flirtations, but they’d agreed to keep their affair a secret, even from those they considered to be friends, for everyone’s sake.

He blushed, and was grateful she wasn’t looking, because it made him a little more bold than usual. In a voice that was barely audible, he whispered, “And you’re _just_ the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known…”

Agatha whipped her head around and gave him an incredulous look as her eyes met his, which had been staring longingly at her back.

“...with a very nice ass…?” He shrugged, looking utterly hopeless.

“ _You’re_ an ass!” She huffed, and proceeded to stomp the rest of the way down the hallway in front of him, wishing more than ever that there was _somewhere_ in this Maker-forsaken place made of cruel, cold, colorless stone that they could just be alone.

“After tea…” He smiled, mumbling more to himself than to her.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess Samson has become my narrator now. lol...anyway...next chapter continues in flashback mode, but it was just too long to keep it altogether here.


	4. Teatime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Back in 9:30)...Thrask, Orsino, and Agatha do some strategizing around the impending arrival of a certain noodle-haired (and traumatized) Templar from Ferelden.
> 
> (In 9:37) Agatha mourns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost NSFW...almost, but not quite. But teacups DO get broken. So there's that.

\---

"There’s the issue of this transfer from the Fereldan Circle…” Thrask interjected in a much lower tone, cutting to the chase now that all the _polite_ conversation had been dealt with and the tea had been served, and they were certain no one else would be joining them.

Orsino was stirring milk into his tea, looking down at it with a little scowl. “What have you heard?”

“Our efforts to keep him away from Kirkwall have proven ineffective,” Thrask sighed.

Agatha passed Orsino the sugar bowl as he stuck the spoon in his mouth and looked even more disappointed. He nodded gratefully toward her as he dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar into his cup and continued stirring it.

She rolled her eyes at him for the third or fourth time in the past fifteen minutes, then turned her attention back to the more urgent matter of a questionable new officer, which they all assumed Meredith intended to hastily promote to Knight-Captain, a post which had remained vacant for nearly a decade after Elthina had promoted her to Commander, since none of her current officers had proven themselves ‘worthy.’

“But I thought his own Knight-Commander had decided he was too emotionally unfit to serve at another Circle so soon?”

“Well, unless he’s somehow made a miraculous recovery, it seems Greagoir has been over-ridden. The endorsement of the transfer comes from the Divine herself.”

“That seems...odd,” Agatha frowned. “I mean...doesn’t it?”

Thrask nodded. “We know Meredith has always enjoyed her favor, ever since she deposed Viscount Threnhold. But yes. This is unprecedented. I wonder if the rumors of Beatrix’s dementia hold some truth?”

“What about her Right Hand, though? She’s a Seeker, right? Surely she would be concerned about something like this.”

Thrask shrugged. “If Meredith has convinced the Divine herself that she _needs_ this particular person here serving in Kirkwall, then I don’t know that the Right Hand can do much to stop it, either. Until he _does_ something...”

Orsino had finally taken a few thoughtful sips of his tea. “He doesn’t have to go on a mage-killing spree to be dangerous to us. Meredith will try and use his story...what he saw, what happened to him and his fellow Templars at Kinloch Hold, to justify even more restrictions on the mages here.”

“Aye,” Thrask nodded slowly.

“Our work, while it will be increasingly necessary, is only going to become more dangerous, I fear.”

“For whom?” Agatha was getting tired of him pretending he wasn’t the person _most_ in danger of Meredith’s retribution.

“For _all_ of us.” He glared at her.

“You know where I stand,” Thrask declared. “Where I’ve always stood. Against this kind of fear-mongering and hatred in general, and against _her_ , more specifically. That isn’t going to change. Our tactics may need to, but I’ve got nothing to lose,” he laughed. “I’m only a few years away from retirement, anyway. But _you_ , Agatha…”

“Oh knock it off! Both of you...‘old men’ acting like chivalrous knights concerned about a woman’s safety.” She took a sip of her tea, before continuing, “I’ve never been a damsel. And, in case you haven’t noticed, everyone in this blighted city is constantly in some kind of distress.”

“Thrask is right, though. You _do_ have the most to lose.”

“Nonsense! I’ve managed to escape the consequences of my ‘disobedience’ before. Though admittedly, joining the Templars may have been a bit like trading a prison cell for a pair of shackles.”

She looked to Orsino, who had thankfully stopped glaring at her. In the six months since she’d come to Kirkwall, she’d been tempted numerous times by things she’d witnessed or been asked to do to request a transfer, back to Ostwick, maybe, or anywhere else, really. When she’d overheard Karras bragging to a new recruit that “Tranquil will do anything you tell them to... _anything_ ,” she’d wanted to slit his throat and deal with whatever consequences awaited her. She had been ready to quit the Order, at least.

But she knew if she did, she would never see Orsino again. And it was the unrelenting hope she found in him, in spite of the fact that almost his entire life had been spent as a prisoner in a Circle, his enduring belief in the slow, grueling work of resisting in small and incremental ways the dehumanization that these institutions seemed determined to uphold...these were the things that kept her going. Kept her reporting for duty each day. Some days, all they could afford were polite nods of acknowledgment to one another across the cold expanse of Templar Hall. But even then, he had hope enough for them both, and he was always willing to share it.

Thrask cleared his throat, drawing both of their attention away from the unspoken things that almost always were forced to linger in the silence and spaces between them. “Well, we’re going to need someone here on the inside to try and work with him, or, at the very least, to keep an eye on him and Meredith and let us know what they’re up to. Someone she doesn’t already suspect of constantly working against her...”

Agatha looked aghast at him, then at Orsino, who was nodding in agreement. “She already loathes me! I hardly think she’ll be welcoming of me taking an interest in her new _favored_ officer.”

“Maybe so, but you are still ‘new’ here. You have never declared yourself in opposition to her.”

Thrask winced, remembering the events that had led to her seizing power over nearly every political organization in the city, seemingly overnight. It had been horrifying to see Knight-Commander Guylian hanged to the cheers of the crowds in Hightown, but equally horrifying to see how quickly their allegiances shifted once Meredith and her Lieutenants decided to take Viscount’s Keep in retribution, and the City Guard turned it over to them without a fight. Only a few Templars dared to oppose Meredith’s overstep, and he had been one of them. And Samson, younger, and of lower rank, had been another who openly disagreed with her back then. She had made sure that they both had suffered for it in numerous ways in the years since.

“I _refuse_ to be put on babysitting duty!”

A sudden knock on the door startled them all more than any of them wanted to admit. After composing himself, and nodding at the other two to confirm that they were prepared to face whomever it might be, Thrask walked hastily to the door.

“Ser Raleigh, hello,” he announced, loud enough that they could hear. Orsino and Agatha eyed each other, a strange mix of relief and concern shared between them.

“Er, excuse me.” He looked over Thrask’s shoulder. “First Enchanter, Ser Agatha…” He looked back at the man standing in front of him. “Ser Thrask…”

“Come in. I wondered if you’d still be able to join us today…”

“And why is that?” Samson asked defensively. He looked more disheveled than usual. His face was pale, his thin lips creased together, not twisted into his typical irreverent grin. He looked up at Thrask accusingly, then down again at his feet, almost apologetically, when he saw the confusion on his friend's face.

“I just...I noticed you weren’t on the duty roster tonight.” Thrask’s brow furrowed with concern. “What is it?”

“Sorry. I, uh, have just been summoned to Meredith’s offices. Just wanted to say my g’byes, I guess…”

“What’s it about this time?”

“Assuming it’s one of the dozens of her rules that I’ve broken or my ‘bad attitude’ in general. Maybe all of the above?”

“It’s about Maddox,” Orsino interjected.

“Did _you_ tell her?!”

“No. But she questioned me earlier. I told her I knew nothing.”

“Well, thanks fer tryin,’ at least…” Samson looked down, then back up again. “Have any of you seen him today? He didn’t meet me at our usual spot. Got me a bit worried. He’s usually pretty eager to pass off his love letters to his girl.”

“No...” Thrask looked worriedly back at Orsino.

“Me neither,” Agatha muttered. The relief she’d felt earlier that the ‘mage-sympathizer’ Meredith’s lackeys had been talking about wasn’t her was quickly replaced by concern for the young Apprentice and their friend. Surely, illicit letters shouldn’t have warranted more than a scolding?

But Orsino looked worried, too. “I haven’t had a chance to visit the dorms yet today…”

“I’m sure he’s fine. Tell him it’s not his fault, will ya? He’s a good kid. Don’t want him getting all pissed off and into more trouble on account of me.”

“Do you really think she’s going to discharge you?” Agatha was having a really hard time understanding this. It was _just silly love letters_ , for the Maker’s sake!

“This isn’t Ostwick, lass,” Samson laughed.

His condescension reminded her of her initial meeting with the Knight-Commander. _No shit_ , it wasn’t Ostwick. But it was beginning to feel like some kind of twisted reality designed by demons. Agatha didn’t really believe in most of that stuff, at least not the Chantry’s version of things, but maybe _this_ was the Black City, after all.

Orsino nodded at Samson. “If I see him, I will let him know you don’t blame him. And if _you_ need anything…”

Samson laughed again. “What can _you_ do for me, First Enchanter? She’d happily turn ya Tranquil if she had any reason to, and defending a _compromised_ mage-sympathizer is as good a reason as any to _her_.”

He looked directly at Ser Agatha, who quickly looked down, away from him, hoping he hadn’t caught the panic in her eyes at the mere suggestion of Tranquility. Could he have known about her and Orsino? Maybe they hadn’t been careful enough, after all.

Samson mumbled a few more rueful goodbyes then headed down the hall toward the Knight-Commander’s offices. Thrask offered to accompany him, but Samson refused his support as well. Once he was gone, the three of them couldn’t really bear to discuss what awful punishment might have awaited him or Maddox.

After a long, dismal silence, Thrask inhaled sharply, and stood up. “Well, I’ve been assigned to Darktown tonight, so I must be off. Meredith still finds it amusing to send one of her most senior Templars into the sewers at night.”

“We’ll clean up tea.” This had been Orsino’s plan all along, of course. Unfortunately, some of the bubbly anticipation of having time alone with Agatha had worn off a bit given the uncertain fates of their friends.

“If you’d like me to take your shift…” Agatha offered, halfheartedly, as she added his empty cup to hers on the tea tray.

Thrask smiled at her and shook his head. “Not necessary, but thank you.” Then he nodded at Orsino. “Thanks, _'old’_ friend…” And he winked.

Agatha looked quickly at Orsino, and saw a flash of acknowledgment between the two men that she hoped she’d imagined. Or at least misinterpreted.

After Thrask had left, she asked, “You haven’t told him have you?!”

“No. But he knows. I think Samson must, too.”

“Maker’s balls and tits…and ass!”

Orsino’s face dropped, thinking about what they both knew needed to be said, though neither wished to be the first. “Agatha…”

“What?!” She was feigning ignorant irritation instead, pretending she didn’t know what was coming, in the hope that she might be able to hold off the inevitable. For just a little while longer. “Can’t a girl curse when her forbidden affair turns out to be public knowledge?”

“This needs to end,” he sighed, his shoulders slumping. He wasn’t looking at her. Just staring at the dregs in the bottom of his teacup.

“I know...” She sat down next to him, reaching for his cup and setting it with the rest of the empty tea things on the tray beside her. “But that thing you said earlier...in the hall…”

“About your ass?” Orsino’s face brightened, just a little, as he looked up at her with another hopeless smirk.

“No.” She shook her head. “The other thing...” She couldn’t repeat it.  No one had ever found _her,_  the youngest of five children to a runaway-slave-turned-prostitute, whose only real admirable quality was being pragmatic enough to stay out of too much trouble, anything close to _remarkable_ before. It would’ve made things so much easier if she could just believe he was trying to tease her or flatter her. But she knew him better than that. He was never that cruel, and he saved his empty flattery for his enemies.

“Oh. Yes. Well, that part was true, as well.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’re really awful at breaking up with someone, you know?”

Orsino smiled, and laid his head against hers. They sat there for a while in silence, grateful for the opportunity to be happy and completely devastated together at the same time.

“This might be our last chance...”

“To fool around in Thrask’s office? Didn’t know that was a fantasy of yours, but…”

She lifted her head to look at him, to see if his eyes were sparkling again like they usually did whenever she made some kind of ridiculous remark to kill one of his heavy moods. He turned to face her and for a brief moment, seeing the look in his eyes, she almost believed in the hope he was constantly trying to convince everyone else in this Maker-forsaken place to believe in. But it was a hope mixed with so much heartache. And now that she saw _that_ , she wanted to look away, before it consumed her, too.

“To make love.”

“What?”

“You heard me. None of this quick, rushed, armor only half-off under-the-robes nonsense in the dark. You deserve better. We both do, but...”

“But you just said…”

“I know. And I meant that, too. But for now, right now, to the Void with it all! We’re alone. In as safe a place together as we’re ever going to be. It’s your choice, of course. We could end it now and go our separate ways, or…

“Go out with a _bang_ , huh?”

Orsino snorted. “Here I am declaring my love for you…”

“I didn’t hear any declarations, First Enchanter.”

“I love you!” He blurted out. “I know I shouldn’t. I know I can’t. But I do. And if there’s any hope for us…”

She leaned forward and kissed him to keep him from making any frantic promises she knew he probably couldn’t keep.

“Some handsome elf once told me that there’s _always_ hope…” she said, reaching her hand up to his clenched jaw as he swallowed whatever other impassioned words he’d meant to say. He may have been the one thing in Kirkwall that brought her hope, but she granted _him_ relief from the frustration that often threatened to overwhelm him as he toiled tirelessly for a better world in such a broken place.

He smiled, and closed his eyes. “Sounds like a fool,” he whispered as he leaned into her touch, covering her armored hand with his own and reaching between the tiny, spiked plates to intertwine his fingers with hers.

“He is. But I love him, too, I suppose. And if this is the only chance I get to say it without worrying about who else hears it, then we might as well make the most of it.”

He skimmed his hand down over her vambrace, taking hold of the steel plating jutting out at her elbow, and pulled her closer to him. Her other hand fell to his lap as she leaned into him, gauntleted fingers expertly gathering up layers of velvet and linen underneath. She knew how to navigate his robes by now, but they didn’t need to hurry this time. She relaxed, letting the fabric fall, and slid her hand slowly, smoothly over his thigh as their lips met again.

Neither knew or cared how long they sat there for a change, reveling in the kinds of long, slow, drawn-out kisses and attention they had never had the opportunity to enjoy with one another before.

“I hate your armor,” Orsino muttered against her throat, breaking the trail of sweet kisses he'd been making along her jaw and down her neck, while her hands slid over his shoulders, keeping him close.

Neither of them had wanted to pull away, and he had been searching frantically for some part of _her_ to hold onto, some break in the cold red steel that stood between them. He could deal with the passive magic-dampening enchantments of it, something you just got used to being in a Circle, always surrounded by _something_ designed to curb your power, but it was the impenetrability of it that frustrated him now, as he longed to be closer to her. To touch her and caress her and to press his body against hers. There were no weak points. No vulnerabilities in a Templar’s armor. And when their helmets were on, which Agatha tried to avoid as much as possible, it was even harder to imagine that a living, breathing person was inside, let alone a person who could care for, or even  _love_  someone. And especially not a mage. The Circle had its way of dehumanizing everyone. Even the Templars.

“I know,” she laughed, dispelling some of his frustration. “Me too!”

She reached around to unbuckle one side of her cuirass, knocking over the tea tray that she’d set down next to her and completely forgotten about. The cups went skittering across the floor, one shattering into pieces, while the tea kettle rolled away underneath Thrask’s desk, spilling a trail of leftover water as it went.

“Shit!” Agatha bent down to begin cleaning it all up, but Orsino grabbed her arm and pulled her back for another kiss, wrapping his arm around her waist now that her armor was loose enough for him to slide a hand inside of it. The warmth of her torso, twisting back around toward him in his arms, through her cloth undergarments, was a delight he’d never been allowed. It ignited an overwhelming desire within him to immediately set about freeing her from the rest of the cursed armor as well.

“Leave it,” he commanded with an authority he rarely exercised, as he began unfastening the rest of the maze of buckles and fasteners with relish, deliberately leaving her tassets and skirting, the parts he was most experienced at removing, for last.

“I suppose we won’t end up on the floor, then?” Agatha smiled wryly. She was enjoying his eagerness to undress the parts of her that were somehow still unknown to him after months of fooling around in dark corners, watching with amusement as he struggled with pieces he’d never had the time or opportunity to bother with before. She’d have to help him eventually, she knew, or this could take all evening, but for once, they had time.

“I’ll heal you if you end up with any bits of broken teacup in your behind,” he promised, grasping for her rump beneath the remaining layers.

“How thoughtful of you...”

...

"Wilo..." Agatha exhaled as soon as she'd closed the door behind her, slumping unsteadily forward into the office, and placing a hand over her armor-covered womb. "I named her Wilona... _hoped for_...for you!" 

She collapsed into the old familiar chair at Orsino's desk, and shouted "How could you have given up?!" to the empty space on the other side.

She felt as though she could barely breathe. She needed to get her armor off. It was stifling, suffocating. And she hated it now more than ever. Hated the flaming sword emblazoned across it. Hated everything it had ever stood for. Hated that it had kept them apart. Hated herself for not being strong enough to defy Meredith, the Order, the whole damn Chantry, sooner. For him. For them. For their daughter who would never know what a remarkable person her father was.

With a gasp of relief, she unfastened her chestplate, and began to sob. Hot, angry, cathartic tears that she'd been holding back for the past couple of days, always sensible, always pragmatic, always too late to make a fucking difference.

She could feel, or rather,  _hear_  the red lyrium singing its sick twisted song all around this cursed place, too, alternating between promises of power and strength and derision at her failings.  _You could’ve saved him_ , it seemed to be saying, agreeing with all of her deepest fears and insecurities. She hadn’t had a drop of lyrium for almost seven years, but this red stuff still managed to excavate all the old rivulets of need it had once carved into her soul, digging deeper with tainted claws, and compelling her to fill them once again.

“No,” she whispered, after she’d run out of tears, her characteristic resolve returning to her face. “No, I couldn’t have saved him. But we  _can_  do better. For her. And for those of us who remain.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did just enough Google research on medieval(ish) armor to probably get this completely wrong.


End file.
